Helms Deep: Darkness Rising
by regnum
Summary: When I look up, I find myself looking into the eyes of Aragorn. I will never forget those eyes, or the day that I met the warrior-king face to face. They pierced my very soul. He was a man who refused to give up. As long as there was hope, he would not su


**Helms Deep: Darkness Breaking**

**Disclaimer:** Um, not mine? 

~*~

I was there, you know? Barely old enough to remember, but I was there. I remember the voices, shouting. The rush of people, pushing past, hurrying down into the caves. My sister, barely into her fourteenth year, gripping my hand, pulling me along. 

I remember stumbling along the rocks of the cave floor as she pulled me. 

I remember the tears that streaked my mother's face. 

The drip of water running down the cave walls. 

I remember my father – it is one of the few memories that I have of my father. He reaches down to rest his hand on my head. His eyes – a stormy grey-blue – meet mine. He smiles at me through the grime on his face. There is a sword strapped to his side. 

"Be good for your mother, okay?"

He tousles my hair, roughing up the gold locks. I smile at him, not really understanding what's going on. Not comprehending that this could be the last time I ever see him again. In the innocence of youth, I believe that my father is indestructible. 

The battle of Helms Deep took away that innocence. 

But that comes later. 

I remember more voices, echoing off the cave walls. I hear my mother sobbing. My sister grips my hand tighter, silent tears fall, mingling with the dirt on her face. 

My father wipes those tears away. He hugs my mother, promising to return. 

Then, there are footsteps. Booted feet, armour. When I look up, I find myself looking into the eyes of Aragorn. I will never forget those eyes, or the day that I met the warrior-king face to face. They pierced my very soul. He was a man who refused to give up. As long as there was hope, he would not surrender. 

He rests a hand on my father's shoulder. An unspoken order to leave. My father nods, strapping on his helmet. 

Later, I will see Aragorn again. At his coronation in Gondor, I will see him again. See him accept the crown. See the woman at his side, with her air of elven beauty and calm. He was not so different then. He smiles for the crowds, but there is sadness too. I tell myself that it is the sorrow of loss. For the lives lost in the battle for Middle Earth.

I remember wanting to go with my father. I didn't want to be left behind; I think I wanted to be a warrior too. 

I run after them, pulling at my father's hand. I hear my childish voice, loud to my ears, demanding to go with them. My father shakes his head. "No," he says, "You must stay here." 

Tears threaten to fall.

"What is your name?" 

It is Aragorn. He crouches down so that he is eye level with me. I remember thinking that he looked tired. I tell him my name with pride. I can fight too. I have to prove to him that I am an able warrior.

He says nothing for a moment. His hand is resting on his knee; it looks like any other hand. Grimy, dirt lodged beneath the fingernails. But I see the calluses that can only come from wielding a sword. "You must stay here," he tells me, his voice is quiet, quieter than I expect, "Not all of us can be warriors."

I want to protest, but there is something in his eyes. Something that bodes no argument. 

"You will fight your own battles someday, little one." There is a hint of a smile in his voice, "Do not be so eager to hurry towards them." 

I wonder what he must have thought of me then. I wonder why he took the time to stop and talk to me. I was only a child then, but I knew how important Aragorn was. He could have ignored me, but he didn't. 

Perhaps the true character of the man is revealed in times of trouble.

I remember hearing the tramp of orc feet as Saruman's army neared the fort. Mothers drew their children close. I remember trying to escape my own mother's grip. I wanted to be out there, where the battle was. 

A baby started crying in the silence. It's mother trying to shush it. 

A heavy silence descended upon us. Utter silence. The silence of anticipation. 

Then…the earth itself began to tremble as ten thousand orcs stamped their feet and shook their spears. Their war cries were heard even in the caverns depths of the caves. My mother held me tighter. 

Fear hung in that cave. So heavy that you could feel it. My bravado began to fade. Suddenly, war didn't seem that exciting anymore. Oh, how I longed for the safety and warmth of my own home. But it was too late now. Above us, we could hear the war cries of the men. The clash of steel. The cries of the dying. 

I shut my eyes tight, burying my face in my mother's skirts. But now, even that did not reassure me. 

It seemed like the battle raged for days. I can now say that it was without doubt the longest night of my life. A night spent held in the grip of fear. A night of hopelessness. A night without day. 

I can still feel my sister's hand in mine. Her grip tightening as each slow minute ticked past. 

I willed myself not to cry. I refused to. I had looked into the eyes of Aragorn, the man who would be king. Aragorn would not have cried. Despite all my efforts a single tear slipped past my tightly closed lids. It fell, dampening my mother's skirts.

And still the battle raged on. 

The cries of the men were fading now. It had become nothing more than a battle for survival. The walls of the cavern shuddered, loose rocks and debris falling as the orcs tried to batter down the door. My sister's hand is cold in mine. 

It seemed like forever, but the sun did rise the next day. And with the rising of the sun came victory. A small, paltry victory, but victory nonetheless. 

My father never lived to see the sun rise. 

My mother cried afresh when his body was brought in. My sister said nothing, although tears streamed down her face. I remember thinking that it looked nothing like him. So cold. So still. The man who lay there was not the man I called "father". No, my father had gone to a better place. 

It was then I saw him again. Aragorn. He was covered in gore, testament to the orcs he had slain. His hand still rested on his sword hilt, always at the ready. He made his way down the line, offering words of comfort and encouragement to those who grieved. 

I will always admire him for that. It was a gesture so unnecessary, so unneeded. Yet it was gestures like those that would make him a great king. 

He stops, speaks to my mother and sister. When he turns to me I see the sorrow in his eyes. Grief at the loss of human life. I will never forget the words he spoke to me. 

"Be strong, little one. You are the man of the house now."

He says it, and I know it to be true. 

Then he smiles. A smile that is both sorrowful and hopeful. 

Yes, I was there. The memory is fading now, but some things are unforgettable.

~*~

**A/N:** My first LOTR! Wow…well, as always, comments and criticisms are welcome. I'd really like to know what you think. J We did well at the Oscars didn't we? Go NZ!

© 2004-03-06

Abi


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